


Forget Me Never

by tomlinblows



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: AU, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Headcanon, M/M, destiel au, destiel headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:46:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomlinblows/pseuds/tomlinblows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Dean fell in love while the angel was rebuilding him and restoring his soul but once Dean surfaced on earth he didn’t remember any of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Me Never

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the lovely headcanon by deanfucker on tumblr, which inspired the many months of sadness this took me. Please leave me comments, they smell like pumpkin spice candles.

                                                                                      _“I love you. Remember. They cannot take it.”_

_\- Lauren Oliver_  


 

 

 

Unfamiliar leather slid underneath his fingers as he swiveled down the faulty stretch of tar. Dean gazed over at his brother, who between gnawing on his bottom lip and knitting his brows together, splayed his antlers in sudden confusion. Dean almost laughed.

 

“You missed the turn. Dean, you missed- dude, where are we going?” 

 

“You’ll see,” he replied when Sam’s shoulders tensed. “I’ll get you back by morning, relax.”

 

“Dad doesn’t even know you took the car. We’re so dead.”

 

“Eh, we’ll make a good case.” 

 

Sam laughed, throwing his tiny fist into Dean’s shoulder. They smiled. “Jerk.”

 

“Bitch.”

 

They’d make it to the beach just before sunrise, Dean thought, when the world was tinted and everything was peaceful. Dean tore his eyes off the road to scrutinize his little brother; a dimpled grin in place, and in moments like these wished that he could protect him from all the bad they’d seen. Sam Winchester, with the shredded cuticles and double-knotted shoelaces (that Dean would always untie the night before a hunt to save them the extra ten minutes of Dad yelling while he tried to shove his feet inside the next morning) and eccentric hunger for salads. Dean didn't understand why anything would want to harm him. 

 

 

_Sand between our toes, Sammy._

 

If they were lucky enough, Sam could slip in and grab his backpack before Dad even woke up, running back out to the guzzling engine before biting dust. They always talked about the coast but never exactly made it close enough. Dean imagined it was nice, though; the kind of place where they could whisper a single _I love you_ to each other without masking it behind _proud of you, Sasquatch_ or _put on your seatbelt even if you’re in the backseat_ or the ever infamous _thanks, brother._

 

_Sand between our toes._

 

“Dean,” Sam began, his voice steadying. “Thank you.”

 

A pair of green eyes grinned, when suddenly the car dropped down on one side, then on the other, and there were sparks and stuttering and _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit-_ smoke engulfed the windows and when Dean jerked to his left, the passenger seat was empty. 

 

His expression widened in fear. He tasted blood; coating his teeth, lining the roof of his mouth. Sweat stuck to his skin, images of hounds flooded his mind, and fear, terribly large amounts of fear. Everything he knew- no, everything he _was_ began crawling around inside of him searching for an escape hole, until the butterflies between his heart and ribs felt clipped and he was hollow. Maybe it was for the best, he wondered. Maybe if he opened his eyes right now they’d be black. This was home now; Hell has always been home for Dean. Heaven’s… but a dream. 

 

Blinding pains from barbed hooks pierced into his white-hot flesh and there were chains; he was suspended. He remembered everything and _it wasn't real, not anymore._ The space where his throat used to be was skinned hoarse and raw when he felt a presence lurk up to him and bone-crushingly grasp his chin in his hand. When he spread his lips apart, crimson ichor leaked out, thickly coating Dean’s feet until the skin bubbled up and soon trickled off. _Alastair,_ he wished he could grit through his clenched jaw, through a blade just treading circles across his abdomen, ramming into his skin instantaneously.  

 

“Sammy!” he screamed. _“Sam!”_

 

Waves crashed in the distance, fading with them the last remnants of his little brother with the undeviating smile and floppy hair, before heat reached the tip of his ears and everything went dark. 

 

 

  _Because if you walk into a room and notice what is missing from it, it is still there isn't it? -Caityin Siehl_

 

 

After six days without sleep, Dean finally nods off for a while, mind accustomed to the never ending screams that echoed throughout Hell's walls; most of his brother's name, more of his parents. They aren't real, he reminds himself, but the mere thought of a full mouth of teeth never cools the sore gap a tongue runs over after one's pulled. They hurt. Hearing their voices, it hurts, but Dean Winchester is so far gone he barely recognizes his loved ones anymore. 

 

He stirs from his sleep breathless, panting, looking around his cell with bloodshot eyes. Seeing spots at first, from all the blood loss, he hangs his head down in defeat. It was just a dream. For a moment he thought he'd felt a pure hand on him, pulling him forward, whispering throughout radio static that  _it's time to go._ The room is bare when he wakes, the wavering of foreign fingertips vanished, and nobody is going to save him. He's had that dream hundreds of times now, each feeling a little more real. He knows no one is coming. He knows. Part of him doesn't blame them.

 

This time, though, Dean catches sight of something, unable to fully make it out before it evaporates. A strange light anomaly. Something blue. By the time he blinks, it's gone.

 

 

 _"You would have gone to hell for him, I know,_  
_oh, but darling -_  
_he would have stayed to burn with you."_

_-P.D_

 

Dean Winchester learned that time spent in Hell cannot be measured by the hands on a clock or the amount of X’s crossed off a calendar. It was the number of screams he could torture out of an innocent, unadulterated soul for his own amusement. It was the number of devices he used to do it. It was measured by how many thoughts of Sammy- who, Dean prayed he wasn't too deep enough to be heard, was somewhere safe- he lost count of. 

  

Time stretched,

 

 

and pulled,

 

 

and hauled and dragged on until he couldn't remember what he was anymore

 

 

except a beam of heavenly light,

 

 

and the burden lifted by the hand of his Savior. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
_"But scripture burns holy_  
_between our bodies and I know,_  
_any hell would be heaven if I went for you."_

_-P.D_

 

 

 

_Dean Winchester is saved._

 

It takes a copious amount of force to peel his eyelids from one another and focus on the pace of thumping in his chest. He was breathing, and this wasn't Hell, but this wasn't Earth. When he pats at his chest, the wounds have perished. There's a blurry figure in front of him while he blinks, and then the figure has brown hair, and then they're not just a figure anymore. Dean traces the edges of the strangers face with his eyes until they land in fierce pools of azure. “What the hell… who are you?” 

 

_I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

 

Dean swipes his eyes left to right, unnerved. 

 

_My name is Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord._

 

_Hello, Dean._

 

“Where are we?” He snapped. With a gentle head tilt, Castiel’s squint focused on his lips and Dean noticed that his eyelashes were the same color as his freckles. _Angels are alluring, anybody with a Bible knows that,_ he scoffed to himself. It wasn't just Dean’s opinion. It couldn't be, because he’s _always_ been somewhat… and he’s never _really_ thought… but here, right now, in front of him, he’s _thinking_. Castiel’s breathing shallowed and a shiver writhed up Dean’s spine.

 

_Oh, we are in Heaven,_ he grimaced. _  
_

 

"Heaven? That's a _thing?_ And this is _it?_ Hell, if I ain't been cheated.  Why? Out of all the rotting, damned souls down there, why would an Angel rescue _me_ from Hell?”

 

_Because God commanded it. Because we’ll have work for you._

 

Dean looked around the room- it was blanched white with nothing but the cot he was sat on, a door, and a mirror hanging on the wall beside it. His eyes stroked back and forth, brows united in curiosity. When he spun on his heels, Cas was waiting for him with a forlorn expression that Dean imagined him practicing in his mirror each morning. None of this made sense but that was a feeling that still hung on inside of him, and when he tries to remember why, nothing comes. He shrugs it off. “So this is Heaven- never thought I’d buy myself a one-way ticket here. I can't even recall the last place I was.”

 

Cas tucked his lips to the side offering a smile. 

 

_You did not exactly buy yourself a one-way ticket there, either. I know this must seem strange._

 

“So tell me, Cas,” The name rolling past Dean’s teeth before he could think twice. He wouldn't have, anyway. “What _does_ an Angel of the Lord plan to do with me?”

 

_Rebuild and restore your soul; that was the mission given to me by my superiors. Personally, I deem it necessary._

 

Dean’s forehead wrinkled at the thought of trusting somebody who he only believed to be a symbol of hope. “Will it hurt?”

 

_No. Don’t worry. I will not hurt you, Dean. The human body can only sustain so much of our power at once so it will take some time but our ultimate goal is to return you to your brother._

 

Cas guided his hand over Dean’s chest when he laid down, head back and mouth agape, the golden light returning. Like patchwork, Dean could feel his wears and tears being sewn up like cement filling the cracks in a sidewalk. A memory teetered inside of his lungs, settling between the valves in his heart and sinking down like floss. Cas wanted to look away but then there she was, _Mary Winchester leaning over her glowing sons bed and soothing a kiss to his forehead before whispering a sentence that would echo throughout Heaven and Hell and back again, and somewhere in that very moment, God himself, drinking his morning coffee, reached over for a napkin and scribbled down a commandment to be followed in many years to come._

 

Castiel relinquished his fist and Dean gasped for air, his lungs burning. Cavernous breaths moved through him slowly until they locked eyes and Dean couldn't help but notice the pink flush around Cas’ cheeks, running against his eyes like the tide pulling into the rocks. Dean didn't want to look away, not really, but his gaze rippled downwards when a shooting pain spread throughout his arm. His fingers raised to the area, and he wobbled towards the mirror, lifting his shirt. A swollen red handprint flamed against his skin. 

 

_That is my fault, Dean. I’m sorry. Let me remove it from you._

 

“N-no,” he sputtered. “I kind of like it. Always wanted an arm tattoo.” 

 

_The arrow of the archer across your wrist for your mother, a Sagittarius. A symbol of truth and a reminder to carry on._

 

Dean looked away, and Cas watched the sky start to shake before the stars began to fall. 

 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, face turning away towards the wall. “I had to take care of Sam though… could never really save up enough.”

 

Cas looked down, watching Dean’s chest rise and fall like a mountain peak poking against the clouds. _Rest,_ he said lowly. In the corner, his Angel offered a smudged expression, but Dean brushed it away with a grin. His hand curled under his neck, and he opened his mouth to speak but Cas could only hear his radiance. _You know, Cas, sometimes, at night, when I’m about to fall asleep, I think about the last thing she ever said to me, and what d’ya know,_ says the soul. 

 

_I know everything, Dean Winchester._

 

_I know that you are a glass half full, not half empty._

 

_This life has not given you enough._

 

_Your mother is very proud of you, boy._

 

_Human bodies have twenty-four ribs_

 

_and_

 

_if all the blood vessels inside of you were laid end to end, they would reach about 60,000 miles._

 

_You have consistently been so, so beautiful._

 

 

 

 

“Dean,” Cas whispers. “I am having a hard time here…what is your favorite color?”

 

The angel squints at him, reading intensely into the fibers of Dean’s skin, feeling a blush creep up onto his chest. “Honestly, I’ve always liked yellow best. Or brown like leather.”

 

"Brown like leather. I can see that very much." A benevolent smile extends across Castiel’s lips as he rubs his palms together. The sunset that night was a ravishing array of all different pink’s and yellow’s and orange’s waving against one another in the sky, overlapping in an enchanting display of a reminder that the world can bring you marvelous things, even if they’re pulled from the pits of anything but.

 

 

 

_ "Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you." - Gaby Dunn _

 

 

 

Later, when Dean thrashes awake from a nightmare, he asks about what’s beyond the door. Cas knows they cannot leave- that the return and restoration of Dean’s soul is paramount- and the consequences that would follow if that is not obeyed. But Dean’s eyes finally have some green filtering through, and he’s closer home than he was yesterday, so Cas finds himself extending a hand down to help Dean to his feet until they’re standing close enough that they feel each other breathing. Neither of them step back. Not even a little. 

 

_I think Dean Winchester’s soul can handle a little detour. I think it can handle anything._

 

A hand pressed tightly into Cas’ shoulder and a few footsteps after, they're in the hallway sporting broad smiles. All of a sudden Dean is remembering the last time he snuck out and Cas is supporting small circles into his lower back- _July 4th, 1996, Sammy glued to his side, kicking up dirt waiting for the passenger door to unlock, then pulling off into some old field, digging out his lighter. A flicker of light ignites the first firework, reeling into the air above them until the scene is a clear view; two brothers beneath a canopy of glittering lights, who between balancing the never-ending fears tomorrow may bring, find safety in each other._

 

“A happy memory,” Dean murmurs. “Can you feel it too?” 

 

Cas nods. _Remember who you are. It’s all part of your soul, it’s all coming back._

 

“Things were good then. Sam was good. The world didn't seem endless. He was so excited, Cas… told me that Dad would never let us do anything like that. He was right.”

 

_You’re all coming back,_ he coaxes. 

 

Three steps later they’re halted again, Dean clutched over in pain, Cas tracing shapes over the flannel coating his shoulders. _July 5th, 1996, crawling in through the bathroom window, sunlight pouring a trail behind them, tiptoeing towards their beds. John rises from the couch, whiskey dribbling down his chin, Dean tucking Sam behind him. “Sneaking out with your kid brother during a case- the hell were you thinkin’, Dean?”_ “ _Sammy deserves a childhood like you deserve a #1 Dad Award.” One, two, three loud pops send purple and blue and green displays across a pale cheeked canvas, sparks of red sizzling to the ground as Dean’s pulp body drops against the wall before “there’s your friggin’ fireworks, Sam”_ _and the memory fades to black._

 

Cas doesn't say a word about John after the reaction of bringing up Mary, so he marches on down the many milky halls of Heaven and Dean doesn't make a sound until they reach a door with thick silver letters engraved into it. 

 

_HENRY E. GILBERT_

_1921-1953_

 

“Who is this?”

 

_The eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub. I like it a lot here._

 

“Where’s your Heaven?” Dean asks. 

 

When they step inside, the first thing he notices is the soft grass and the warmth of the sky against his skin. There are mighty oak trees and _oh,_ flowerbeds of violet hues and luminous yellows and pastel pinks. Bleached, swollen clouds pass slowly above the kite tied to the man’s wrist, who frolics along to the tune only he hears thumping around in his head. Dean wonders if the man knows he’s dancing with an Angel, who wandered over to join him minutes after Dean sat down, departed in thought. The tails of his trench coat struggle to keep up with his feet as he ungracefully stomps around in the dirt, chin pointed high towards the sky, only lowering it to goggle at Dean, who waits for him with a smile. He sinks down next to him and jabs his fingers into the soil. Castiel smiles under the sun, but it’s not the sun, not really.

 

Dean wonders if maybe he sat underneath it long enough, and let it sink deep down into the calcium of his bones, that whenever Cas looked at him, he would smile all the same. 

 

_It’s wonderful here, isn’t it?_

 

“Cas,” Dean elbows him. “Will I remember any of this once ET phones home?”

 

_No, you won’t, which is why I'm going to tell you a secret. When I first laid my hand onto you in Hell, it was not the first time I have met Dean Winchester, but it was the first time I’ve met you. We’ve been very happy together, you and I. Through much- World Wars, renaissance, the swingin’ 50’s… so deep under the ocean that by the time humans discover our bones we’ll be long disintegrated. There are many lifetimes generated for each of us, Dean, but in every single one I never falter to find you there. I’m so terribly grateful for that._

 

Dean swallows and his words come out cracked. “How do _you_ remember?”

 

Cas laughs, but he doesn't mean it. It comes out sad.

 

_Because I’m the first. I loved you. I loved you so much, and you loved me, but sometimes that is not enough. I believed that our love could do anything- bring us anywhere, and so it did. God must’ve commanded it. Maybe it goes beyond even him. I think, sometimes, that something must._

 

Dean’s smile reaches his eyes. “Yeah, I keep hearing that. He must’ve had some pretty big plans for me… a head’s up would’ve been nice. A postcard, maybe.”

 

He feels wisps of chocolate hair brush at the skin beneath his neck and lets a grin creep onto his lips. The dainty angel between his legs is happy. Dean cups a gentle hand around his jaw and points Cas’ face towards his, their noses bumping as Cas tenderly judd’s his chin forward until they’re so wrapped up in each other Dean expects to run over feathers with his fingers as they glide down his back. Their lips meet like a river reaching the sea; surely, inevitably, and the breeze plants bumps along his skin. Behind Cas’ shoulder a flurry of leaves becomes free and flutters down in their unhurried way, tumbling to join their sisters on the ground while catching in their hair. They laugh together, picking out loose sticks and remnants before falling back against the rich soil. It was the kind of thing that made Dean want to cry.

 

_To answer your question, Dean Winchester, this is my Heaven. Here, with you, under the delicate rays of the sunshine; two things that will always be. It is not much, but it is mine, and that is enough._

 

Dean beams at him, enveloping his lips between his own. They’re sweet like honey. 

 

_We should be going._

 

“Why not just heal me here?” Dean sweeps at his shoulder, bashfully. Cas can already read the list of prodigious consequences _that_ would entitle, but Dean doesn't long for earthliness here and neither of them ever want to move. Cas agrees after several pecks later and tickles Dean’s sides just so see him scowl. He waits for the sound of laughter before guiding his hand back over Dean’s sternum, shimmering, and this time it feels like the pieces of his soul brace together like symmetry. Dean’s eyelids crinkle at the vague images of a science project made of paper mâché, leaning over the kitchen counter with Mary as they flung sloshy bits of newspaper onto an old basketball from the garage. The luster is gone when Dean’s breath comes in subdued pants and it’s scary for him, feeling so vulnerable. 

 

Voices in the back of his mind tell him _keep a strong face don’t let him know don’t let him see be strong strong strong_ but he’s plopping into Cas’ lap without even shushing them and there’s nimble fingers in his hair and more laced with his own and then the voices are screaming _to hell with that this is who you are this is who you want to be_ and he just simpers. 

 

“Do you like it here?” Dean asks, wiggling his fingers around between the blades of grass.

 

_Of course I do. Heaven, Angels… kind of a package deal. I fight alongside my brothers and sisters and serve my Father just like humans with their families. But humanity is His most beautiful creation, and most of the time, I would much rather be there. Believe me._

 

Dean knows it’s silly but he can’t stop himself. “Come back with me.”

 

_Oh, I would in a heartbeat if ordered to do so. I’d make a grand entrance, with flying sparks of light and claps of thunder just to impress you._

 

“With my memory whitewashed, I’d probably stab the pretentious dillhole barging in, but you’re such a dork you’d just think it was endearing, huh?”

 

Together they snickered, pitching out ideas of how that lifetime would be. They’d meet in some random barn in _Illinois, let's say,_  and Cas would be real badass with his wings on display and the whole nine yards. He’d even keep the trench coat. 

 

_Dean, I… I keep finding pieces of myself deep within you, as I heal you, chips and fragments from other universes- other us’s that hold on within your heart… and I think it would be best to remove them. When you get sent back to Earth, they have work for you- big plans. If my brothers and sisters find remnants of their own kin within a human, it will be a big weakness for us both. I just think it best if we do what we have to do to protect-_

 

“No,” Dean interrupts, keenly. “So I’ll smite some feathery son’s of bitches.”

 

_You would not remember any of this. You wouldn't know to kill them, and I certainly would not want you to do so._

 

“Please, Cas,” his voice breaking. “I don’t care. I’d take out the whole freakin’ army of Heaven if I had to if it meant the chance of looking into your eyes again somewhere, and knowing it’s supposed to be that way. I couldn't forget you, Cas, I just couldn’t. I’m begging you!”

 

Dean Winchester fighting dragons, Dean Winchester in space, Dean Winchester with a white fenced suburban house with a pick-up truck and an old dog; always one for the chick-flick moments. A world encompassing that alteration makes Castiel cringe. 

 

_Alright,_ he sighed. _But only if you kiss me._

 

And he did, after that, for a long time. Cas told him stories about the last time his eyes were this bright and Dean constellated every freckle on Cas’ skin, memorizing it all because _statistically speaking, Dean, there is every probability that at least one combination of my freckles semi-accurately represents a pattern of stars out there in the universe…_

 

The bloated clouds shifted, the kite was no longer in flight, and the not-really-sun never went down. 

 

… _perhaps they will be your map home._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Castiel._ Uriel, gliding his hands down the polished desk edge, smiles idly. _What brings you to me today?_

 

_Dean Winchester’s soul is almost healed._

 

_Good._ He rises, wavering by his chair for a few moments before turning back around to Cas, who cannot bear to drag his eyes up from the floor. _This must be awfully hard for you… losing him again… I remember last time very well. Your heart split so fiercely it ripped 1,300 kilometers through California._

 

_Father should have chosen someone else for this job,_ Cas snarls. Uriel puckers his lips, muffling a laugh. Cas can’t control himself from glowing angry and the temperature in all of Sudan rises eight degrees. 

 

_You know better than to doubt our Father, Castiel. You can take that somewhere else._

 

_Gladly,_ Cas bites in retaliation. 

 

_But before you go, brethren,_ Uriel’s eyes are hollow when he speaks and he resembles too much of a husk, _you mustn't forget he will be only a man. You cannot love him this time. There is no absolution for the fallen, only the dying._

 

_(A short pause)_

 

_I am his. Let it be known._

 

Castiel leaves the room before the tension diminishes and a frown tugs upon his brothers lips as if they were tied to the doorknob with string.

 

 

 

_ Through rose colored skies _

_ Or blue, blue moonlight and miracles _

_ I'm high as she's walking by  _

_ -Screaming Trees _

 

 

 

 

_Hello, Dean._

 

“Mornin’ Cas.” Dean’s eyes are still sleepy when he sits up and the other man in the room wants to kiss every eyelash, every flutter, every blink. He squeezes a hand into his shoulder blade instead, then lets his knuckles slide down until their fingers knit together all too effortlessly. 

 

_I missed you so much._

 

Both of them smile but Dean couldn't understand what he truly means and that isn't his fault. If Castiel’s Father ever spoke to him again, directly, that would be the first thing he would ask. He’d gone over it in his head for hundreds of years now, because one must know bad in order to know good, yes- but why the suffering? One could still know good without having it stripped mercilessly from them, and Dean didn't have to forget loving him all those centuries ago. Good things do happen, he tries to believe, but they do not always outweigh the poor. Cas aches for the soft green beneath Dean’s sinking lids when abruptly, he stirs. 

 

“Do you know anything about Sam?” 

 

_Unfortunately, no._ Dean’s lips compress and he bobs his head, mumbling something of self-blame and sarcasm when Cas defies yet another rule of Heaven and smooths the cuffs of his overcoat. _But I have knowledge of something else I think can be of help._

 

It’s another door, farther away than the autistic man’s, but Cas won’t let Dean read the name and brings his hands up over his eyes as they step inside. The fingers dwindle and Dean can see again, before he’s coughing off the smoke that he inhales by mistake. Everything smells faintly like pot and heavily like liquor, but it’s not exactly a bar- it’s a party. A Halloween party. He turns to Cas, who continues weaving him through the sweaty college festivity until they’re inches from a small glimmering table with blonde hair in a nurse costume. She’s sitting alone, but she’s happy, he knows. 

 

“Is this hers?” Dean yells over the music, but Cas isn't pressed into his side anymore. He’s clambering onto the stool next to her’s and- _they’ve met before?_ Dean rambles out loud. Cas waves him over. She beams at him when he arrives and Dean raises his eyebrows when he mimics her, reaching out a hand which she pulls into a hug. She smells like cookies and flowery shampoo. 

 

“Dean,” she sucks in a gust of air and lets it out loosely. “It’s been a long time.” 

 

“J-Jess.” He stammers with glossy eyes. His words cave beneath him so she’s crushed against his chest again and she laughs where his shoulder meets his neck; it’s warm like his brother’s. 

 

_I believe you remember Jessica Moore._

 

“Jess, I am… I’m so sorry.”

 

“Not here, please, I have a grave for that. It wasn't your fault. I was actually really glad you showed up, even if it was _breaking in_ in the middle of the night. He needed you more than he needed me back then.”

 

“Don’t you say that,” Dean interludes sharply, shaking his head. “That’s not true.”

 

Jess dips her chin, smiling at somebody across the room but it isn't Sam. Dean wants to ask if he’s here, but he wouldn't be able to stand the look on her face if he wasn’t. She refuses a shot from somebody dressed as a skeleton and bats her eyes at Dean, who’s struggling to hold himself together across the table. 

 

“It’s my Heaven, Dean.” Jess tries smiling. “Of course Sam’s here. But it’s the him he was _here._ ”

 

“He was still my brother _here._ ” 

 

_She just doesn't want you to get hurt, Dean. Heaven is not one for expectations._

 

"He misses you, you know. We don't talk about it much, but he does. I hear him when he sleeps and I read through his text messages. He's running up quite a bill too, when your damn phone doesn't even work, but I don't say nothin'. He's into brunettes now. I'll be damned if I'm ever lucky enough to miss someone like that." Dean flickers a glance at Cas, suddenly feeling his stomach flip. 

 

In the corner, the men’s bathroom door opens and a boy walks out wearing one of Dean’s hand-me-down jean jackets with the band patches un-sewn and a haircut shorter than he’s sported in a long time. He’s fresh faced and tiny, with light in his eyes and the world hasn't broken him yet, not entirely. He sees Jess before anyone else when he slides back onto his seat, smiling admiringly at her as she giggles. 

 

“What?” Sam asks. 

 

“You have toilet paper on your shoe, babe.” He laughs, peeling it off and balling it into the trashcan in one fluent moment, like it’s happened multiple times before. 

 

“What would I do without you?” 

 

“Crash and burn.” She shrugs, smiling against the kiss he pulls her into. Dean’s soul shivers inside of him because he never got to see his brother like this- so _happy._ He silently hopes he remembers this, when he gets back, just for when he needs it. 

 

Sam turns around now, eyes widening when he realizes Dean is there, who’s grinning wistfully. He digs his thumb nail into his knuckles when they hug until blood emerges because _it’s not really him it’s not really him it’s not really him._

 

Dean picks out Cas by the entrance, signaling that they have to leave. Tequila is placed in front of him and it’s brought up to his lips mechanically; drinking himself numb is primarily programmed no matter how much Hell he goes through. Sam shrivels up his expression and Dean doesn't realize how long he’s been staring at him until the music floods back into his ears and nothing around his little brother is blurry. 

 

“Sammy,” the words deflate from his lips like a blown tire and he just wants to wrap himself into his younger brothers arms until he’s not _just_ dreamed up. He doesn't have a sentence to follow; just clings onto the word like a prayer. 

 

“It’s Sam.” He remarks, slapping a loose hand onto his shoulder before turning back to Jess. 

 

_No, it isn’t,_ Dean wants to say, but it’s not his place. It’s Sam here, and he’s Jessica’s, and he’s never looked so content. Dean leaves quietly, shifting away from the table as everything fades out and he wonders where _his_ Heaven is, he wants to go _there_ ; where Cas does sweet things without risking falling and Sam is _Sam_ and Mom and Dad are alive and the weight of the world is off his shoulders and he can smile without the sounds of rust and he isn't scared, he’s _home._ Finally. 

 

With that thought, Dean turns on his ankles and presses his chest back into the table, deciding he doesn't want to let go of not-so-Sammy just yet. Whoever it was still had the same wolfish grin, the same sloppy fingernails, same bunny-looped shoelaces. If it’s all he gets here, it isn't so bad. 

 

“Happy Halloween, kiddo.” Dean forces a smile, grabbing Sam by the neck to give him a noogie. By the time he realizes that he’s the only one laughing, Sam’s smoothing over his scalp and Jessica presses a kiss into his knuckles wrapped up in hers. 

 

“You know I hate this holiday,” Sam groans. “We had the _worst_ times. Remember the one year Dad took us around the motel and made us hide EMF’s in our bags beneath our candy?”

 

“The old man was just trying to keep us safe, c'mon now.” Dean rumpled his nose in defense, Jess adverting her eyes when she sensed anger. The crowd looked overcast for a moment, and the pumpkin on their table glowed dull. The end’s of Jessica’s hair smelled like ash until the creeping whiff of smoke barely filled Dean’s nostrils before being snatched away. Cas strolled up and bid his goodbye’s to the table, hurriedly dragging Dean towards the door.  

 

_You cannot interfere in somebody’s Heaven like that, Dean._

 

“‘M sorry,” the words dangle in the air like clothes from a wire and nobody bothers to unpin them. When the portal shuts, Dean slumps over Cas’ shoulder and sighs against his cheek in defeat. Cas links their fingers and leads him back to his room before the alcohol can even be chased. 

 

 

_‘But, I love him.’ the Sea whispers to the Sun._

_‘I know,’ The Sun replies. ‘But I’ve loved him longer. I loved him first.’_

_-P.D_

 

 

 

 

There’s an oil spill in Canada and two forest fires somewhere between Washington and Oregon before Dean’s breathing levels into slumber and Castiel exits the room soundlessly. Red hair saunters up to him in the hall and a smile balances between them. 

 

_Anna,_ he greets. Her eyebrows hitch in suggestiveness when his hand leaves the knob. _Restoration took a lot out of him. I just got him to repose._

 

_This is the one, Castiel. The one where you don’t retain the boy._

 

_Oh, you don’t know, sister._

 

_I know as much as you do. I was there. Look,_

 

She spreads her palms, displaying a view of Pompeii boiling over, and Cas squeezes his eyes shut from the twist in his gut. If he opened them again he’d be scared to see the molten lava pouring around the edges of his feet. The sky had turned from crisp to grey that day, they told him, and citizens knew what was to come. Mothers hugged their daughters curled up beneath huts of safety while even the shards of grass narrowed towards the sun in stance of fight. 

 

_Everyone knows. It killed a lot of people, Castiel, the third time you loved him. The world is not at your fingertips this time._

 

_The world runs through our fingertips, Ana. To think that the world could hold the world, well… that is mighty unfair to ask of it,_ he snides. 

 

_You are reckless. You are selfish._

 

_You’ve been in love before._ It’s truly a low jab, he’s aware, and her heart skips a beat like he figured. If only he had better people skills this whole altercation could be avoided, he thinks to himself.  

 

_Yes, I have, but my love did not spin the world off it’s axis. My love was not written with ink from the stars. It was not dangerous._

 

Anna nearly trips when he pushes past her, strolling forward in his sensible shoes. She wishes he’d listen like he was taught to. He narrows his eyes at her, his voice husky, when her soul pleads at him. 

 

_Then stay out of the way._

 

And ultimately, like spinning wool into yarn for weaving- with every link of knowledge Anna was created with hanging at her belt, she does. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_ "Above us, only stars. Below us, only stars. To all sides, only stars. Inside us, only stars." _

_ -Welcome to Night Vale _

 

 

 

One night, or at least he considers it to be night since his body is numbing with exhaustion, Dean braids his fingers together behind his head while his legs cross in comfort. Cas hears him muttering and brushes it off as sleep talk _(human thing)_ tuning his hearing into seemingly more important things. Dean cracks an eye open at Castiel who’s across the room lost into the openness in front of him. 

 

“I wonder where you are right now,” Dean forms the words with his lips without letting much sound follow. 

 

And in the Angel’s celestial head, the space time continuum is nothing but a carpet path to somewhere far, far away, where Dean Winchester is laying in a grave and there is him and only him right now, and the fact that he chooses Cas to spend every life with, perpetually blows his mind. Literally, because anytime he so much as _thinks_ it’s undoubtedly followed by _and_ _I want to shoot through the roof and land on some star out there in the galaxy and have a picnic with you and we can throw breadcrumbs at the moon and I can reach over and grab one of Jupiter’s best rings and slip it onto your human little finger and I could take the clouds from Earth and string them together to make you a sweater so you won’t feel cold (space is -454.81 Fahrenheit, Dean, you’re wearing a sweater) and I will juggle all the comets I can catch so you will have something nice to watch and I’ll grab the flag off the moon so you will have something to keep forever, so a piece of the universe will always be with you even though you are always a piece within her._

 

“I am many other places,” Cas says. “But I am invariably with you.”

 

Dean gawks at him, making Cas’ hands quiver, and the Angel clumsily scatters a handful of twinkling stars atop the Southern Hemisphere of North America. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Dean and Cas first met, (after gravity slowly gathered it’s gas and dust together into clumps) they were doomed asteroids bound to collide. They’d spun together for many years, mesmerized by the profound pull towards each other, never quite coming close enough to beat the voracious need to touch. Castiel would pray for an axis tilt, just enough for him to strive to the right for that flaming spheroid he admired burning so brightly. And on the other side of the horizon suspended Dean, who only scintillated so amply when he blushed. Together they stole secret glances as they incessantly circled one another until one day when the heavenly bodies around them started to tremble in anticipation. Igneous bits of the universe fell right across their eyes until Dean vibrated, and Cas felt the invisible strings that held him high rip to shreds, plummeting him towards the growing cyan ball they nicknamed _Earth._ Brothers and sisters leaked past him all at once until he felt the familiar closeness of a certain flame.

 

_We are going to form something very big,_ Castiel shouted as they passed each other. _I hope I do not lose you._

 

_Remember my touch and you will always find me,_ Dean Winchester replied, squeezing out a grin before Cas’ eyes swelled shut from impact. By the forceful push of Fate’s fleeting hand, they exploded into one another, later to become small planetesimals, and as Time ran his pressing fingers around the rough edges of the new planet, chaotic from the start, they did not see each other again for a very long time. 

 

When the world was just a baby ball of hot lava and asteroid remnants, humans were being formed out of star dust, they say. And it was then that the stars built themselves into something bigger, better, brighter; putting all of their energy into humanity, watching pieces of themselves cling on to others to create new life-form. The sky cheered in triumph, basking in what they had done, spewing water down onto land. 

 

And with movements between the raindrops, twenty fingertips met not entirely for the first time. 

 

 

_ “I loved you even when you forgot me. _

 

_ And—for a little while—you loved me back.”  _

_ ― Julio Alexi Genao[  
](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/25536478) _

 

 

 

 

_I like the specks of brown that float around in your left eye that are hardly ever seen and the inward curve of your teeth. The way you scrunch your nose is cute. Too cute, if I’m honest._

 

“No one will ever know me like you do.” Dean admits. It’s weird how he doesn't have to eat or drink or use the bathroom here, he thinks, like his body is just a former vessel. He misses food and beer so when his eyes glaze over when he babbles on about cheeseburgers being a necessity rather than a habit, Cas has to kiss him quiet. In his defense, he was beginning to drool, which reminded Cas of his old brother, Gabriel; the two could be odd friends maybe. 

 

Their toes faintly brush against each other when Castiel slithers into the bed with him, attempting at cuddling in the small frame but ending up giggling into each others chests and wriggling under the sheets. Dean lets out a deep breath- one arm under Cas’ neck and the other fidgeting with his fingers spread across Dean’s stomach- and smiles into the delicate man’s forehead pressed to his welcoming lips. A sporadic gust of wind pushes through a sunflower field in Kansas, blowing the petals into a newborn’s carriage, the visiting couple smiling graciously at each other beneath the warm sun. Cas smiles. The child laughs for the first time. 

 

“So soft,” Dean susurrate’s when his hands skim across Castiel’s pink flushed cheeks. “Pretty.”

 

_I could dissolve into these sheets right now, right here, and be content forever._

 

“I can’t be with cotton,” he sniggers. “It’ll be hard enough telling Sam I’m… I’m not completely-”

 

_Dean. He knows._

 

“Well, yeah, he knows, but I still have to _tell_ him. Maybe we won’t have to steal money anymore; everyone we’ve ever met has running bets with him about it. We’d probably be friggin’ millionaires!”

 

Dean crinkles by his eyes and Cas wants to laugh but the radio in his head tunes in, volume loud enough to stir him out of bed and jab two fingers into his temples. It only lasts a few seconds. Dean shivers next to him, yanking his arms down and repeating the same words over and over as if they’ll make more and more sense each time. “Hey, it’s alright, it’s okay. What’s going on?”

 

_That was... a message to all.... of the Angels._

 

Sharp green orbs trace every inch of his face in rapid desperation but Cas can’t look at him because _shit,_ tsunami’s could rise in Hawaii or a natural disaster could strike anywhere in South Africa or the God forsaken Apocalypse could very well start and Anna was so awfully right. 

 

“Cas, talk to me! What is it?” 

 

Earth is spared when their eyes lock, but something briskly changes in Dean Winchester. Healing light is brought over his chest hastily and he’s biting his lip from power abuse; his bones crush against the cot, but he’s reinstating. He swears he can feel _the cold metal of a gun densely against his palms, rock salt stinging his nose when his eyes sweep over the ghost behind the corner opposite of Sam, shooting it into thin air; “son of a bitch!”_ Cas clutches his eyes shut when he plummets to his knees afterwords, nudging against the fingers kneading through his messy hair until hands glide under the sides of his face, angling it up. 

 

The hunter peers down at him lovingly for one of the last times he will remember and Castiel can only deliver words of notable sin. 

 

_Dean Winchester is… going home._

 

 

 

_ “And I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again.” - Charlie Puth _

 

 

 

 

For a long time he cannot muster any words, and when he does, it’s faint. If Dean hears him he doesn't show it. Cas tries to read his thoughts but it’s like finding a needle in a haystack, and he gives up with frustration. The air in the room presses along their skin like an itch, however, nobody rustles. Knowing something is bound to happen doesn't prepare you for how it’s going to hurt. This Castiel knew when he raised Dean from Hell- he’d been lost, but he knew where familiarity would be found. He knew home. 

 

“I’m scared, Cas.” Dean mutters, eyes lifted upwards at him. Jeans hung over the back of a chair, refusing to sit on it correctly, and a chin perched atop a forearm. 

 

_There’s no reason to be frightened. Things will be alright._

 

“Oh yeah, and how do you know?” Dean barked at him. 

 

_Contrary to popular belief, I do not lie to you._

 

“You knew this would come to this and you still let me- this shouldn't have happened. Not like this. Not under these circumstances, Castiel, never!” 

 

_I could wipe your memories now if you wish._

 

“Might as freakin’ well,” he snaps. “You owe me the favor.”

 

_You’re being harsh, Dean, what’s happened?_

 

“I don’t know.” Dean drops his head in his hands, leaning back on the chair, pressing into his skull until his fingertips drain. He did know, though, he knew it when he first processed the news. The sound of Cas’ voice didn't come as easy to him when he thought about it, and he was positive there was _no way_ the Angel had once counted each of his freckles. Dean looked at him and it hurt. _Didn't Castiel have brown eyes?_

 

No. They were unforgettably blue and Dean remembers kissing him after counting to forty-three. His tongue pokes out and swipes across his lips, and the honey’s still there, if he concentrates hard enough. “Why don't I know, Cas?” 

 

He wants to explain that this is how it starts. After this, nothing will make any sense anymore. This is who Dean will be from now on, out there, wherever he has to go to get back to Sam. Brave, isolated, strong-willed Dean. Cynical yet selfless, rough around the edges but still smooth where it counts. In a way nothing really changes- yet, he will take his coffee black and forget to admire the trees. Dean will be Dean but Dean won’t be _his,_ not there, and that isn't _Dean._ He still must return.

 

The itching heightens, unfurling into a tingle, and Dean’s risen from the chair but can't recall doing it. Castiel grabs onto him somewhere and the sheen of sweat against their foreheads unify before everything feels like it’s trembling and his heart thumps like a dryer with shoes in it, or maybe that’s Cas’, or maybe they’ve always just shared one. His vision wanes. Transiently, he is only a soul- a soul staring desperately at it’s other half in front of him, begging it not to let him go, to pull, stretch, haul, drag him back in like the way time did in perdition. But the soul sounds farther and farther away and when he feels his eyes open again, he expects to be anywhere but exactly where he was. 

 

Castiel looks panic-stricken and brittle, “One day I’ll start to dream of blue and you’ll be there to tell me all about why. I look forward to being interested to know.”

 

A lopsided grin dangles on his face by a thread before cracking and crumbling quietly to the floor. He feels so broken, so little, that when Cas pushes out a sigh he wobbles, falling backwards by the time the walls disintegrate but he can still see Castiel, and when all surrounding him is darkness and stars, he thinks he’s been here before. Dean can still see Cas, and he’s burning blue above The United States, lustrous enough to squint. 

 

_I know one thing, Dean Winchester, I know it for sure. And on the lonely nights ahead it will be the arms that bring me home- we did not end up together in this life, you and I- but somewhere we did. We will, always. What a lovely thing to know, isn't it?_

 

He knows this voice and let’s it absorb him. Maybe they skipped Dean. Maybe he got lucky.

 

_You and I._

 

Saturn’s dusty rings of ice are around thirty feet thick and Dean’s luck runs thin. It would take him more than a week to drive across one of them and burn enough rubber to crash through the doors of Heaven, seeking out a tan-clad pair of arms. The fibers of his being hope Cas is waiting. 

 

_Somewhere._

 

If Angel’s really existed they would avoid Dean at all costs, he ponders. Mary had earring’s that matched Neptune’s moons but lost them to the vacuum when he first learned to walk. He passes by slowly, blazing hot and accelerating towards the clouds. “Found them,” he notes. 

 

_Always._

 

Pine infiltrates his senses and somehow throughout the black, spots of blue surface through until they don't anymore. The peace of night settles above him and _Cas was happiest under the sun,_ before his eyes begin to close. 

 

_I will love you so, so much._

 

**And he, you,** the words are scribbled almost unreadably at the bottom of God's napkin all those years ago. **Whoever that may be.**

 

 

 

 

The dirt beneath his fingernails will stick there for days by the time he claws his way six feet up. No matter how hard you breathe in, your lungs will usually only fill to about eighty-percent capacity even on the deepest of breaths. Dean Winchester lays there on the olive grass of Earth, counting each eighty-percent he sucks in, losing all concept of reality when he hits five-hundred and sixty but he knows he’s breathing, however, it feels like he’s drowning in sunlight. It’s warm and it’s comforting and he knows he has to find Sammy. When he stands, the sun leaves his face and instead beats down across the red of his neck. The road ahead is long and his body moves before his brain does because his throat is desiccated and his arms sought for a little brother. 

 

Dean Winchester trudges down the miles of scorching asphalt and tries to remember the last thing he saw. The hellhounds, and Sam, and Lilith. His shoulder hurts and he quickens his pace. 

 

Many stars away an Angel is missing from Heaven, while his hunter basks in the sunshine, the real one this time. 

 

 

 

 

“Wishful thinking but maybe it’s just the wind.” 

 

Dean swallows the lump in his throat; _the wind was never able to burst whole lightbulbs, was it?_ The roof of the decrepit barn wails, the metal clambering louder than any thunder they could ever recall, and sparks glitter across their shoulders as they duck. The stable doors glide apart on their own as the sparks continue to filter, blocking their view of the shadow stalking towards them. Dean raises his gun and shoots until his fingers shake so badly he can barely keep them on the trigger. Bobby shares him a look before turning away and Dean instinctively grabs his knife. When the stranger finds his eyes, he’s met with an unexpected look of pure amity. His hair is tousled in all separate directions and the bullet holes in his trench coat are still smoking. His eyes are so _blue,_ Dean thinks, that he almost stutters when he speaks. 

 

“Who are you?” He asks, and deep down, the man in front of him frowns, because _part of you knows, Dean Winchester, you made sure of it yourself._

 

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” 

 

But that isn't all- not even close. _I’m the one who has loved you since before everything, and I’m the one who will love you after. Anywhere else you are mine, I promise, and you are very happy. I’m the one who you will fight with, pray to, long for, never leave behind, rather have cursed or not, laugh with, choose, need, love. It’s me, Dean. Don't you remember?_

 

“Yeah, thanks for that.” The knife barely impales him, and Dean’s eyes widen within their sustained glare. For a split second, perhaps even less than that, the smallest bit of warmth passes throughout Dean’s stomach and exits through the tips of his ears. It leaves goosebumps in it’s wake, and if you asked him, he’d say it felt something like sunshine on a Tuesday afternoon, with the breeze coaxing the trees to sing and the flowers in full bloom. But the glint disappears somewhere inside of him, dragging the bumps in with it, leaving only a smirk washing over Cas’ lips. 

 

His hand pulls out the blade, hearing it scramble to the floor, and tilts his head to the side. Dean’s heart pulses the next time they look at each other and he remembers being told once that blood in your veins has very little oxygen and looks almost blue when covered by your skin. He looks into Castiel’s eyes, but there’s no almost there; coursing within every artery in his body is certainty. 

 

Dean’s eyes swipe downwards, paralyzed with curiosity, unbeknownst to him when every Angel up in Heaven sighs in vanquish. Outside the barn, air is humid and still while cicadas call each other home. An Angel made of hydrogen traps a direct order from God between his teeth along with millions of stories, endless ways to say I love you, the number of freckles littered across the shoulder’s of a sun-kissed man, but when Castiel finally speaks, the words don't belong to him. If they did, they'd sound different. If they did, they would be something along the lines of everything listed, and still so much more. They’d hold power and memory and so much love, so much importance compacted between a series of syllables it would make heads turn. A familiar pair of green eyes would raise, unwavering, and stars would fall just to listen. 

 

_Hello, Dean._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you have ten toes or if you just really like pasta.


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